Then, on closer inspection, I see SOMETHING TERRIBLE. (Click to embiggen)
Dear Reading Borough Council, I write, Thanks for putting up a streetlight 18 inches from my bedroom window this week.
Although I never need to ever switch on a light to see what I'm doing, it poses a few problems on the whoe going-to-sleep front. Here is an actual, hardy photoshopped picture.
Get a grip, you nobbers.
As you can see, I am being spied on by The Ood from Doctor Who, which poses a whole new set of problems, because nobody can go through life knowing a fictional alien races can see you in the nudd.
Can't sleep. Ood will eat me.
Ninja edit: Thanks to an exchange of emails with Reading Borough Council, the enigmatic Customer Service Adviser 10067 promises that the light will be fixed by the end of the week. In fact, me and 10067 got on so well, I wrote my nameless saviour a lovely poem:
To Customer Service Adviser 10067 at Reading Borough Council*Sigh*
Oh, Customer Service Adviser 10067
I'd like to - some day - take you to heaven
Because you showed me the light
When my room was too bright
Unless you are a bloke, then forget it. Not that there's anything wrong with that kind of thing. Also, something that rhymes with -even.